Dark Fires Shall Burn

by Anna Westbrook

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’m after something more, ah, specialised this evening. A little bit more exotic.’

  ‘What? Like darkies or chinks? Tipper doesn’t do that sort. You’re out of luck.’

  ‘No.’ He puts one finger on Templeton’s jaw. ‘That’s not what I had in mind.’ Templeton recoils, but only slightly; enough to keep him interested. ‘Now. You’re your own man, as you say. And I am a businessman. What price for business?’

  He thinks about the man from the fountain and the pound he put in his pocket. ‘A quid a suck. Two for anything else.’ Templeton looks him in the eye. He is flushed and excited by his own confidence.

  ‘You’re underselling yourself: a young boy like you.’ The tall man strokes his cheek.

  And suddenly their transaction is eclipsed by Nellie’s loud pleasure, and the couple on the couch cannot contain themselves any longer. They leave their chairs and fall upon Dot and Nellie with groans. Quickly there is a writhing entanglement of bodies. Nellie lets the man heave against her, and the woman has Dot spread-eagled against the couch, where she’s making low guttural sounds in the back of her throat.

  ‘Shall we make an exit?’ Templeton says, and he is already showing the tall man to the door.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The cemetery has become a whispered thing of legend, a simmering thought. Every day the stories grow wilder. Even though she has not been back to school since Frances’ death — there is no point now they’re leaving, her mother says — Nancy hears what they whisper on the street outside her house. Sometimes she cannot bear it and flings open the door to scream at the boys to shut their traps, and they’re fearful and somewhat in awe of her: ‘You’re that dead girl’s friend!’

  But other times she listens, wondering if the tall tales could be true. One is that Frances was murdered by a gang of devil-worshippers as a child sacrifice to Lucifer. (Had it been a full moon? Close, and good enough.) Another, that she was murdered by a lunatic American soldier on a rampage, a man who’d killed before and will kill again.

  She had asked her mother if she could take a casserole over to Mrs Reed just so she might be able to sit in Frances’ room a while. ‘I want to feel near her.’

  ‘I wish you could, but didn’t I tell you? Mrs Reed’s gone. There’s nobody there,’ Kate told her. ‘The house is empty. I think she left the baby with Ada.’

  ‘How could she?’ Nancy asked, sour with contempt. ‘How could she leave? The police are still doing their work. They might want to ask her more questions. She doesn’t even care.’

  ‘Don’t be uncharitable, Nan. That woman has been through hell. A man from the factory, Mr Langby — the boss, I think — leant her his property in Berry for a little while. To recover from the shock. I don’t think she’s been doing very well.’

  ‘Mrs Reed has gone off with Mr Langby?’

  ‘Well, no. Not with him. Surely not.’

  The boys on the street pass the words killed, murdered, ravished, strangled between them like trading cards. She wants to punch them all in their gibbering mouths.

  Nancy starts returning to Lennox Street, standing opposite the house where the girl who broke the record player had said the name to her — Jack Tooth — as if being there would conjure him by osmosis. What had they been playing before it smashed? ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’. But there is no longer any music. The house is no longer lit and lively, now boarded up and silent. The shuttered windows look like a giant’s sleeping eyes. She waits there in the evenings whenever she can sneak away, idling near the paling-fenced edge of the cemetery, until the light has all but evaporated. She watches all the men who pass by for the one called Jack Tooth, squinting at their faces, obscured by hat brims and shadow.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Two nights later, Templeton enters a club on Oxford Street in Woollahra. It is warm enough inside for most of the men to have peeled off to their shirtsleeves. There are only a couple of women in the place.

  The show is just starting when his drink arrives. It’s the second time he’s been here, and the act is as boisterous as last night. The bouncing line girls are introduced by a droll emcee with pencilled-on eyebrows. The ‘girls’ are men in dresses, Templeton had realised that first night after an embarrassing long while, and wasn’t sure what to think. Tonight, recovered from the shock, he loves it.

  Once the set is over, he begins to work the room. There is a small park down a side street that Templeton has come to know well from bringing men down there for sweaty tugs and sucks. He is getting better at it, anticipating what they want and giving it to them. He sips his Scotch with a little delicious shiver. He is buying for himself tonight, enjoying the heft of the money in his pocket and the freedom it purchases.

  Last night he was making money hand over fist. Today he bought a smart, single-breasted suit in dove-grey, a blue shirt and a brown silk tie from Mark Foy’s. He’s also wearing an old trilby of Bob’s that matches the suit. His hair is already evening out a little more, and Nellie tidied it for him earlier tonight. ‘Looking good, kid.’ Tipper had slapped him on the back and wolf-whistled as he stepped out.

  He wonders what his mother would think to see him dressed so fine: she’d be proud as Punch, probably.

  Close to eleven, Dot comes to join him for a drink. It’s time to stop: he doesn’t want Dot to see what he’s up to here, although he knows she’d have pretty much worked it out.

  After they down a couple, Templeton stretches out his hand to help her up from her chair. ‘I can walk by myself,’ she says, swatting him away, but she sways tipsily on her feet like a foal. Once they are out of the club and braced against the night, he slips his arm through hers and leans in to take some of her weight. It is a long walk down Oxford Street to Palmer, and she forces him to stop every five minutes, or so it seems, so she can light another cigarette as she negotiates her bag and matches. He offers her one from his new monogrammed case.

  ‘You’re turning into a good little earner. Just like your sister. Must be a Luckett trait,’ she says, and he hears the bitterness in her words, but he knows it’s not directed at him.

  As they hit Taylor Square, they hear the sound of women shouting. Templeton keeps his head down as they cross to the other side of the street, determined that it is not his affair. He can see one woman hitting another over the head and shoulders, really pummelling her, the other weakly slapping back but mostly just protecting her face, her hands in a boxer’s crouch.

  ‘Roberta?’ Dot halts, drawing herself up. He hadn't thought she was capable of noticing much with the state she was in. But now she seems steely-eyed and sober.

  ‘Dot! Oh, thank God it’s you.’ Roberta tilts her head towards them and gets walloped on the shoulder while her guard is down. ‘For Christ’s sake, get this bitch off me.’

  Templeton darts over and pulls the woman away. She’s kicking and screaming, trying to land a punch on him, but she barely weighs a hundred pounds and he pins her arms behind her back. ‘Christ!’ he curses as one arm escapes and her fingernails drag the side of his face, but he forces her arm down again. Dot steps up and clocks the woman hard in the mouth.

  ‘Fuck you!’ the woman shrieks, spraying blood and spittle and most likely chipped tooth all over them.

  ‘Dot, don’t. I’ve got her,’ Templeton says, but Dot slaps her across the cheek anyway. ‘Stop it! I said I’ve got her.’

  ‘Are you going to keep still?’ Dot asks. The woman nods and stops thrashing. He loosens his arms so she can nurse her smashed mouth.

  ‘Bitch!’ she hisses at Roberta. ‘This is my spot.’

  ‘I wasn’t! I was waiting for someone, that’s all.’ Roberta’s face and arms are brindled with red marks, visible in the streetlamp.

  ‘Well, wait somewhere else next time.’ The woman shoots a filthy look at the three of them. Templeton releases her and she gives them
the finger, struggling off to lick her wounds.

  Dot and Roberta stare at one another without speaking, and Templeton breaks the awkward silence. ‘What were you doing in the dark in Taylor Square at one o’clock in the morning, you daft pinhead?’ He gives her a hug. Roberta starts to cry. He releases her and looks pleadingly at Dot.

  ‘Come with us. We will sit you down and give you something for your nerves.’ Dot takes her hand. Roberta sags against her, clearly exhausted, and Dot lets her sob against her chest. ‘Come on now, it is alright. You are alright.’ She strokes her hair.

  They lead her back to Tipper’s. The upstairs is dark, and no one stirs when they light the lamps. Dot pours her a large tumbler of gin. Roberta holds it with shaking hands.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you both. It’s been horrible at Dolly’s since you left. I should have gone with you. I was a dumb bitch.’

  ‘Tell us what’s happened,’ Dot says in a soothing tone.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin.’ She swallows a large gulp of gin. ‘Well, since she threw you out, everything changed. First Lorraine started lording it over us all. It didn’t bother Sally much, she mostly left her alone, but she was mean as a cut snake to Annie and me. Said I was unnatural, that she knew what I was and that I was going to hell.’

  ‘Lorraine, that little pustule.’

  Roberta smiles. ‘Then Dolly found out she was rooting Snowy. Or sniffed it out. Who knows?’

  ‘Lorraine is dead meat!’ Templeton says, smiling at the prospect.

  ‘It was crazy. Me and Annie, we come home, and Dolly has Lorraine by the hair, face against the wall, beating the living shit outta her,’ Roberta says, livening to her tale. ‘She’s yelling and hollering her head off, about to bring the whole place down. Then Snowy comes barging in and gets between them. Tells Lorraine to run for it, and she’s off like a shot. Then he rounds on Dolly! Punches out her false teeth and everything. Tore off her wig.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Templeton exclaims.

  ‘I never saw it before, but I’m told once in a blue moon Snowy gets on the piss and has a real go at her. They’ve even locked him up for it. He almost killed her back in ’36 apparently.’

  ‘How bad was it this time?’ Dot asks.

  ‘Not as bad as it could’ve been. Errol gets in there to try and break it up and he pulls Snowy off her ’cause, you know, he’s snapped. He looks like he’s gonna kill her this time. Next thing Dolly jumps up, grabs the poker next to the fireplace and hammers Snowy over the head with it. Whack! Hit him so hard you could’ve heard it outside. He goes down like a stone, just like in a movie.’

  ‘No!’ Templeton puts down his gin.

  ‘Yes. Then Errol starts ranting: you crazy bitch this, you crazy bitch that. And Dolly waves the poker at him and says, “You want some of this? Be my guest. Get out of my house. Take your useless sonovabitch mate and get out of here. Out! Get out!” And that’s when the coppers show up and handcuff both of them.’

  ‘Shit,’ says Dot. ‘Well, good on her.’

  ‘So Dolly’s cursing and spitting in their faces like a jungle cat. They have to take Snowy to the hospital; he’s out cold with a probable concussion. They say the whole thing’s going to court for domestic assault. They won’t even let Dolly out on bail this time. She’s in jail. They say she has to sit and sweat and wait for the trial. She’s hopping mad, I can tell you. She’s tried just about everything to bribe her way out of there. Told Annie to use all the cash in the strongbox.’

  ‘But surely they can see that Snowy was beating on her?’ Templeton asks.

  ‘Yeah, but you know the coppers won’t come between a man and his wife. And it don’t look good with Snowy lying out cold on the floor, does it? Dolly’s a big woman who can defend herself. Not the first time they’ve both been done for domestic dispute, neither.’

  ‘That is ridiculous! After he knocked her half to death,’ Dot mutters.

  ‘But the real news is that just after the coppers take them, who walks in this morning but Jack Tooth.’

  ‘What?’ Dot and Templeton exclaim at the same time.

  ‘Cleans Annie out for every penny she’s got and then disappears again.’

  ‘That sack of ratshit,’ Dot says. ‘Were two others with him? Will and Frank? One is a big tall bugger, the other is smaller and mean-looking.’

  Roberta shakes her head. ‘No, it was just Jack. And he was real skinny like. Frankly, I don’t know what you’re all so afraid of.’

  ‘You don’t want to cross him, trust me.’ Templeton involuntarily touches his scalp, rubbing a knuckle over it.

  ‘Did he say anything about where he was staying?’

  ‘Nope. All he did was come in, spouting, “Where’s my girl? Did you miss me?” and other horseshit to Annie and then leant on her for money. Told her he’d find you, Lucky, and break your legs if she didn’t give him everything she had. Asked how you liked your haircut.’

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ Dot breathes. Roberta’s face twists and suddenly she is crying again. ‘Oh, hush, honey.’ Dot leans over and gives her a hug. ‘It’s alright. No one can hurt you here. You stick with us. In the morning we will go find Annie and bring her here too. Tipper will take care of us.’

  ‘This is Elsie Tipper’s place?’ Roberta sniffles and looks about her as if taking in her surroundings for the first time.

  Templeton nods. He taps three cigarettes out of his packet and lights them off one match.

  ‘Does Nellie Flanagan live here too?’

  ‘Yes. Nellie’s upstairs right now. Why?’

  ‘Because Errol’s gunning for her, that’s why. Been telling everyone she ripped him off. Said she gingered his wallet right out of his pocket while they were … you know.’

  Templeton is surprised. He didn’t realise Nellie and Errol had done any more than flirt.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that — Nellie can take care of herself.’ Dot strokes Roberta’s hair.

  Roberta goes quiet, and then says, ‘But that’s not all. I need help. I’m in trouble, Dot.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That’s why I was out tonight. There’s meant to be a place on Stanley Street that — that helps girls like me. I can’t wait too much longer.’

  ‘We will help you. Do not cry, honey. Do not cry anymore.’ Dot wipes Roberta’s wet cheeks with her fingers.

  ‘It would take me at least a month to make that kind of money. And I don’t have that kind of time.’ She places a palm on her belly. ‘Otherwise it’s too risky. I’ve done everything I know. Everything that’s worked before, vinegar and cold water, the Lifebuoy on a sponge; nothing’s taken.’

  ‘I know a man,’ Dot says, holding Roberta’s face up in her hands. ‘We’ll take care of it.’

  Templeton takes all the money from his pockets — scarcely over three pounds after tonight’s drinks — and puts it all on the table in front of them. ‘I’ve got another sixpence in my stash upstairs,’ he says.

  ‘That’s sweet of you, Lucky,’ Dot says. ‘You’re a good boy.’

  ‘That’s all I got. Not much, is it? How much do you have? You going to ask Tipper for it?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Roberta interrupts. ‘Please don’t. Dolly would be furious.’

  ‘I can cover it,’ Dot says, waving her hand mysteriously.

  ‘How?’ He runs a sweaty palm over his hair.

  She goes to the bureau and opens it, pulling out a china sugar bowl. She takes the lid off and withdraws a wad of bills.

  Templeton whistles. ‘Where’d you get that? You stumble on a gold mine or something?’ Dot shakes her head. ‘What then? Horses? I didn’t think you fluttered. Robbing johns? Shit, Dot. That’s four to seven years inside. You can’t go to jail, what would I do? Tell me where you got it!’

  ‘Where did you get yours?’ She fixes a knowing eye on him.

>   ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’

  ‘Alright, then.’ Dot grins. ‘I took it from Dolly’s strongbox.’

  ‘What?’ He jumps up in delighted horror as Roberta gasps at Dot’s revelation. ‘But you said — you said that Lorraine set you up!’

  ‘I lied, didn’t I? Dolly was not paying us what we were owed.’

  ‘But to take it — holy fucking Mary! She could’ve killed you. She would have killed you — and worse,’ Templeton says admiringly.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ says Roberta, shaking her head with approval.

  ‘I did not do it all in the one go.’ Dot looks at his bug-eyed expression. ‘Idiota! I started chipping off the little bits and pieces ever since we got there.’

  ‘But what if someone caught you?’

  ‘I thought of it as a fuckwit tax. Every time Errol or Snowy or one of the punters was a fuckwit, I helped myself.’

  Templeton’s mouth hangs open. Dot mimes pouring gin into it and laughs. ‘Also, I knew that Lorraine would say something about me sooner or later. Theft was the easiest to pin on me, especially after that story of hers, and Dolly explodes like a volcano. But I knew Dolly would be — how do you say it? — canny enough to know that Lorraine was trying to set me up, so really Lorraine did me the favour. I knew she would take money herself — turns out only five pounds — and try to blame me. So I walk away with twenty and Dolly thinking I did not really take it. So she is not going to cut me, but she has to do something, to save face — you see what I am saying — so she kicks me out and then she is just biding her time to get Lorraine.’

  ‘That’s … that’s …’ Templeton looks deep into his gin and then pulls out a broad smile, glowing with admiration. ‘That’s bloody masterful.’

  ‘Well, I cannot say I am sorry. I took it for a rainy day. And what do you know, lovelies?’ Dot laughs and takes a gulp of gin. ‘It is raining.’

  ‘Shall I wait with you?’ Dot clasps Roberta’s shoulders the next morning. It is early; the sky is only beginning to turn light.